


Just Hitched!!!

by khunumu



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 2
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drug Use, Hijinks & Shenanigans, I think?, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Shotgun Wedding, at the end, myron gets hit a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:22:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24009559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khunumu/pseuds/khunumu
Summary: Granville, of Chosen One fame, is supposed to be saving the West Coast from the dangerous Enclave with his ragtag team of misfits.Actually, he ends up getting married.
Relationships: Male Chosen One/Davin (Fallout)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Just Hitched!!!

Throughout his travels, Granville had met a lot of people. Some were annoying brats (like the kid sitting next to him), some were gentle monsters (like the deathclaw currently sleeping on the top of his Highwayman), and some were just plain ol’ great people (like the three men in his backseat). There was the good, the bad, and the ugly. He met smart and stupid. Attractive and revolting. Out in the wasteland, what you find is what you get, and the same goes for people.

Granville was looking to gain some money when the group rolled back into Modoc. The citizens greeted him kindly, eyeing the people with him, but trusting them if this man they loved so much trusted them, too. It was a sleepy town, nothing like New Reno (Myron complained about that a lot), and wasn't overtly corrupt (Marcus liked that part about it). Granville and his gang did what they could around town, even through the prejudice and racism and fucking complaining that came about at first (not many people took kindly to a super mutant and… whatever that thing in the cloak is).

Grisham was one of his favorite people. He was old, probably forties or fifties, but was still strong and very active. His brahmin tasted great, and his butchery was the finest one Granville had ever been to. The butcher liked the tribal, too, especially since he'd watched over the herd and didn't lose a single animal. Grisham gave the group a small bag of fresh jerky whenever they came by (usually it was gone long before they got anywhere close to the nearby towns, devoured by Sulik and Cassidy), a sentiment Granville took to heart.

The man's children, Miria and Davin, were nice as well. Although he had a habit of calling them “kid”, the two were older than Granville by a couple years. Neither complained, though; after traveling the wastes for so long, you'd be forgiven for thinking the tribal was older than he really was.

Miria was indifferent to the frequent visitor at first. She flirted, but seemed to do that with everyone. Outgoing was a personality trait that Granville had himself, and unsurprisingly, the two got along well. More than once, he saw Grisham watching the two, but the old man had nothing to worry about; Miria was not his type.

On the other hand, Davin was shy, preferring to stay in the shadow of his family. Something was a little off about him, something Granville couldn't quite put his finger on, but it wasn't anything major. He was very handsome, too, and naive in an adorable way. And Granville wanted him.

He cornered the boy in his room one night, ready to use the most suave words to seduce his young heart. But after breaking through Davin’s shell, it was easy to get in his pants (although by the time he realized his plan had worked, the boy had already ripped them off). Granville was grateful he drank all that Nuka-Cola earlier, because two hours later, he felt like he might pass out. And he probably would have, right into Davin’s arms, if Grisham hadn't busted in yelling.

The wedding was short and sweet. And by sweet, he meant he had a shotgun pointed at his head the entire time. The pews in the church were filled with only a couple people besides Granville’s gang (they'd scavenged a few ties and jackets from the local trade office--Goris had a cloth draped around his cloaked shoulders and there were stains on Sulik’s jacket that looked like blood). Throughout the entire ceremony, Granville’s hands shook and he felt like he was about to panic. This wasn't what he wanted at all. Davin wasn't a bad kid, but he would have preferred to have known him better before getting married.

Afterwards, Davin stayed inside to talk with his family, while Granville wandered outside where his friends were waiting. They were all silent, and Marcus looked like he was about to say something reassuring, when Myron started laughing. He doubled over, he was cackling so hard, and tears ran down his cheeks.

“Jesus fuck, Grand,” he managed between breaths as he tried to calm himself down. “You really dug yourself a fucking hole this time, didn't you?”

Cassidy whacked him over the head with his hand, causing the kid to fall face-first on the ground. Everyone chuckled at that.

Granville told himself that Davin would probably stay in Modoc while his husband (he didn't think he'd ever get used to saying that) drove all over the wastes, going on dangerous adventures and having lurid affairs until the two forgot about each other, or something like that. But when the kid came out of the church with the most infatuated look on his face ever, Granville knew he was fucked.

He introduced his husband to his friends (to varying degrees of pleasure) and decided just to be straightforward with his intentions.

“Listen, baby, I'm gonna ask you to stay here in Modoc,” he said, putting melancholy in his voice. “Where I go, it's too dangerous, and I'm scared that you'll get hurt, or worse. I'll come back to get you when I'm done, promise.”

At first, Davin seemed taken aback by the words, but was going to listen to them. Then he cracked a smile and shook his head. “No way. I'm worried you'll get hurt. I can't let you out of my sight, handsome.”

Granville threw up his hands. “Woah, I don't travel with more than six people.”

“Exactly. I'll be the sixth!”

Fuck, he should have brought Dogmeat, even if she was sick. At least he would have avoided bringing along his... inexperienced husband (it still felt unnatural).

When they went to the Highwayman, he found that someone had painted JUST HITCHED!!! on the back windshield, and attached cans on strings to the bumper. Granville felt like he was going to cry, but the people must've taken it as tears of joy (they were actually of pain). Grisham came up and slapped his back roughly, before handing him a bag of jerky. It had a red leather tie, so you could tell it was the really good kind. Granville looked at it, and felt like vomiting, but he thanked Grisham anyway, since he liked the man and appreciated what he was doing. When he turned away, he tossed it to Sulik, who dug in instantly.

Once the crowd had dispersed, giving them their best wishes and sentiments (and a few interesting words Granville wished he could forget hearing), the gang all began piling into the Highwayman: Goris on the trunk; Marcus, Cassidy, and Sulik in the back; and Myron in the passenger seat. They were bench seats, and usually the front also housed Dogmeat, but she obviously wasn't there….

Davin paused on the right side of the vehicle, watching Myron take his seat. The kid stared back at him, eyebrow cocked up.

“Can I, uh, fucking help you?” he asked after a minute of silence. Davin looked up at Granville, who was standing on the opposite side of the car, and back at the kid.

It took a moment, but eventually the tribal realized what his husband was trying to say, but was too shy to actually say it.

“Uh, Ron? You think you could get out and let him sit next to me?”

The kid made a face at Davin, a disgusted sneer. “No fucking way! The passenger seat is my seat. Always has been. And I'm not going to give it up to some--”

“Ron, please,” Granville sighed. “Let him sit between us.”

He got out, swinging the door open and getting out so forcefully that Davin had to back up so that he wouldn't get hit. “Fuck you, Grand. I'll just sit in the back. Like hell I'm sitting next to the guy who fucks his own sister. AND HIS FUCKING BRAHMIN!!” (Cassidy said something along the lines of “think that makes you a bit of a hypocrite”.) He turned to the back seat, and swung it open, shoving himself inside. “Scoot over, Mutie.” Now, Sulik was jammed up against the left door, and Cassidy was stuck tight between a super mutant and a tribal. But no one made a move to take a seat at the front.

“C’mon, guys, don't be like that,” Granville groaned, turning to Goris, who was watching with a slightly amused expression.

Apparently, Myron wasn't done. “You think I want to see your husband giving you head while you're driving?!” Everyone turned to him, and Marcus mumbled “probably”. He grew angrier. “I don't! I FUCKING DON'T!” His face became red, and he turned to look out the window.

Sulik squirmed uncomfortably. “We and I tink it be best to get on to da Redding. We all tired, we and I know, and perhaps a silent trip on road will make our frens feel better?”

If there was one person Granville liked above all else, it was Sulik. Too many people believed that he was just some primitive tribal, but he was possibly the smartest, kindest, most charismatic person he'd ever met. His English just wasn't the best.

Over the days, Granville tried (not very well) to deal with his incompetent (not useless!) husband. But it was difficult. He was bad with a knife, bad with a club, and bad with any gun that he could carry. One time, south of Klamath, he nearly got kidnapped by desperate, lonely gecko trappers. There was still something off about him, and he had developed a tic where his foot bounced up that he didn't have when he was living in Modoc (some doctor they ran into said it might be from stress). Davin wasn't stupid, but he also wasn't the brightest pit of radioactive muck, and his shyness became so severe when they went to the other cities that it caused a lot of trouble. He also refused to let Granville out of his sight.

The tribal crossed his arms, glancing back at the three people and two FEV experiments sitting on the curb outside the Shark Club in New Reno. They were staring back, confused, waiting for the confrontation to end. He turned back to his husband, standing in front of him.

“Davin, darling, I need to speak with Mr. Bishop alone. As in, no one else. No one comes in with me, not even Dogmeat.” (When she was around, he thought bitterly).

The former Modoc resident looked frustrated. “No, I'm not letting you out of my sight. I don't care what this ‘Mr. Bishop’ says, he can't separate love!” Granville felt like he had driven his Highwayman off a cliff when the word “love” came about, and in the background, he heard Myron’s trademark snort-and-giggle laughter.

Mr. Bishop’s guards disagreed, and threw Davin back into the casino to wait with the others. When the head honcho asked about him, Granville explained the situation. Then, he started laughing so hard Mrs. Bishop came to investigate. When she heard the story, she laughed as well, making the tribal’s face burn with shame.

Even with all his negatives, Davin still had a few positives, though not enough to tip the odds. He was nice, at least, and dog loyal, save for when he was told to wait (which really just ruined that whole positive). Not to mention that he was, well, great in bed (Granville still pinned their first encounter as his best time ever). Through his shyness, he sure seemed ready to get at it whenever and wherever. Granville had never had sex in the back of his Highwayman, or in the back of Becky’s, or in Vault City, nor the Followers of the Apocalypse’s library. And maybe he needed to tell Mr. Bishop about something that went down in his fitness room….

Regardless of how amazing his husband (maybe that word wasn't so hard anymore) was at the horizontal bop, Granville wasn't happy. He was losing sleep from the stress, and despite the fact that he was only 20, Marcus apparently spotted gray hairs growing (“Now we have two old farts,” Myron had sneered when he'd been told. He got kicked). But he didn't know what to do. He was married, now, and there was no way to reverse that, not that he knew of, anyway. Maybe, with a little encouragement, and a lot of training, Davin could make a good companion.

They had parked somewhere north of the Hub, and set up a couple tents next to the Highwayman to sleep in overnight since everyone either couldn't drive or was sick of it. Granville, however, could not sleep, and had snuck out of his to sit on the hood of his car, staring up at the sky. He had no idea what to do about his situation, who to talk to. He remembered that Mason guy was good with energy weapons, but….

He heard a clunk, and looked to his side to see Myron had climbed up next to him,leaning against the windshield (something he'd told him not to do before). The kid was dressed in shrunken pajama pants they looted off a raider and a white undershirt, despite the fact that the night was freezing. The clothing did nothing but show off how freakishly skinny he was. Maybe all the chems he pumped into himself made him indifferent to the cold.

“I can't sleep because of old balls McRae’s snoring,” he sneered, motioning towards Cassidy’s tent. “He's going to kick the bucket any day now, and I'll be there to laugh my ass off at him.”

Granville didn't reply, but laid down next to him, his own rules be damned. It was silent for a little while longer, until the kid spoke up again.

“You should've slept with Miria. At least she was hot.”

“She was a whore, and I'm partial to the naive types. Besides, you think anything with two legs and tits is hot, Ron,” Granville rolled his eyes.

“Not true. I think McRae is really fucking ug--OW!” He clutched his arm where the tribal hit him.

It was silent again. “I don't know what to do with him. I keep telling myself that he just needs a little bit of training, or that he'll get lucky, but Davin just…” He rubbed his hands down his face and sighed. “Do you know how many times I've had to regrow my fucking arms because he shoots them instead of the guys trying to kill us?”

Myron rolled over onto his side. “Yeah. I have to make the fucking stimpacks, genius. Why don't you just get rid of him?”

“How? He won't stay in Modoc, and he's too clingy to just wait.”

“You could just kick him out of the Highwayman in the middle of the wasteland,” the kid suggested, as if he was being helpful. “Or give him to those pelt traders who wanted him so badly. Could just shoot him, or sell him to Big Jesus. Although he probably won't like it if he sees me with you.”

Granville made a disgusted face. “Alright, you have ideas, I'll give you that. But do you have anything that doesn't involve my husband becoming a slave or fucking dieing?”

Punching his arm, Myron said, “Yeesh. Soh-rree, just giving the wisdom of the GREAT FUCKING MYRON! If you're so attached, you could get a divorce.”

“A divorce? Where?” Granville sat up. “The only chapel I know of is in Modoc, and there is no way in hell they're gonna let me divorce Davin.”

“Yeah, I fucking know that, dipshit. There's another one in New Reno. The, uh, Drunk Cupid Chapel, or whatever. Run by some washed up alcoholic named Father Tully.” Myron shifted, and suddenly looked rather uncomfortable. “Apparently, my parents got hitched there when they were smashed, and it is also the site where one of my siblings was, uh, procreated. I mainly know the place because I used to sneak in at night and get high on, like, psycho and shit under the pews. Before you came by.”

“Of course you did,” Granville muttered, and then, “Okay, so does it cost anything? Does this Tully guy make me say a few prayers or do confession beforehand?”

Myron laughed. “Oh, the bastard doesn't do anything. All you gotta do is bribe him with alcohol, or something like that. I used to pack whiskey in case he caught me, and when I gave it to him he just got drunk in the back room and forgot about it.”

They rolled into New Reno late the next day. It was a clear, beautiful night, and the neon signs glowed brightly. Granville parked the Highwayman outside the city, distinctly far away from Jules (he glared at the man as they passed, who only flashed a weary, silver smile). He gave the rest of the group money and told them to go waste time somewhere in the city, wanting to be alone for this. Everyone trailed towards the Shark Club, probably since it was the most familiar, except for Myron, who made quick haste to the Golden Globes, and Cassidy, who followed far behind with an angry step. Granville made a mental note to grab some stimpacks and other medical supplies before he came looking for them.

Davin instantly wrapped himself around his husband when the two were alone. “About time we had some quality time,” he smirked, and leaned in to trail kisses over the tribal’s neck. Granville would have loved to go and find a private spot, but he knew he'd feel too bad if he fucked him and then dumped him. Pushing off his husband, he pulled him in the direction where Myron said the chapel was.

The light in Davin’s eyes went out the moment he saw the church's neon lights out front, and he turned to Granville, asking questions without speaking. None were answered.

Father Tully was leaning up against the offering box in the main room, already looking rather drunk. Granville wondered if he'd even have to bribe him, but still felt for the beer in his bag, anyway.

He told the priest of his situation, quiet so that Davin wouldn't hear. Tully didn't seem to care until he saw the bottle of alcohol. He called the two men together, and at first, took off the cap and threw it all back with a few loud gulps.

A couple minutes later, and Granville was Separated. Davin seemed shocked when he realized what was occurring, but the only thing he said was at the end of the ceremony.

“I knew this would happen, sooner or later.”

He found Marcus and Sulik sitting in a corner of the Shark Club, both nursing bottles of beer. Sulik stood to greet his friend, but paused when he saw the expression on the other tribal.

“You want me to buy you a shot?” Marcus asked, glancing over at Davin, who was standing a couple feet away, staring out at the floor. Sulik placed a hand on Granville’s shoulder, and he leaned slightly into it.

“Thanks, Mark, but I'll pass.”

Goris was squatting behind an abandoned building a few blocks away, still cloaked. Cody seemed to be talking to him, but the child never spoke, so he couldn't be sure. Cody ran off when the deathclaw turned around and scanned the group with intelligent eyes. He seemed to sense the tension and walked over slowly.

“Did something… happen?” he asked tentatively, irises glowing in the shadows beneath the cloak the only hint that he was under there. Granville smiled sadly and handed him an iguana on a stick from his pack.

“Oh, you know, the usual. I just got divorced.”

The final two were in an alleyway just down the street from the Golden Globes. He spotted the small group that had congregated outside before he heard the yelling, or saw the silhouettes of the old merchant and bug-eyed teenager.

“NO NO! GET OFF ME FATASS! GO HAVE A HEART ATTACK YOU UGLY--AHHH!!”

“You were givin’ that lady such a nice smile. GIVE IT TO ME, TOO, YOU FROG-LOOKIN’ LITTLE FUCKER!”

“KNIFE! KNIFE IN MY FACE!! I NEED MY EYES TO FUCKING SEE ASSH--” Myron stopped yelling when a shadow fell over him.

Cassidy didn't notice at first. “You sonuvabitch. I've been waitin’ a long time for this. Finally give up?” He turned to see what the other was staring at, and pulled off of Myron, sheathing his knife. Granville helped the kid up, whose face was bruised badly with what looked like a broken nose and had both his eyes blackened, though not swollen shut.

The two noticed the look on the tribal’s face, and then the one on Davin’s. The crowd had dispersed the moment they saw Marcus, so now it was just the seven of them standing in the alley.

“You alright, kid?” Cassidy finally spoke up. His words hung in the air, thick like cotton. The question bounced off the brick walls around them, echoing slightly. He could have been talking to one of the divorcees, or maybe both.

“Imma have to buy you a new shirt. That one's gonna be stained with blood,” Granville instead said to Myron, cracking a humorless smile. He wouldn't, they all knew, he could get the stains out, but the kid just nodded his head slightly and poked his nose, wincing.

A few bandages and stimpacks later, and they were on the road again to Modoc, heading north. The stars in the sky shone brightly, and the headlights on the Highwayman pierced through the darkness in front of it (Granville had found a used condom in the exhaust pipe, but the people of New Reno had vandalised it worse before, so he didn't care). He was the last one awake, and the radio was off, so the only sound was the wind and the tires hitting stuff on the road.

In the back, Cassidy and Sulik were snoring softly, and Myron kicked Granville’s thigh while sprawled out across the front bench seat. For whatever reason, Davin had wanted to sit in the back, squishing in next to Marcus without speaking. He hadn't said anything since they left the chapel, and his poker face hadn't moved, either (earlier, Sulik had said something about there being “sad spirits”). Checking the rearview mirror for Goris, Granville sighed.

Maybe he'd gotten a little attached to his ex-husband.

The gang rolled into Modoc at dawn, when the Sun was just beginning to slip over the horizon. The only other people who were awake were Sulik, who was switching between taking bites out of a chunk of mutfruit and singing a happy-sounding song quietly in his native language, and Myron, who had already downed a whole bottle of Buffout and had three Med-X syringes and two packs of Psycho lied out next to him while he continued to search in his bag for more chems.

Davin woke the moment the car stopped outside Modoc, and stared out the window at the community before getting out. He paused and glanced back before entering the town, still sporting his poker face. The three others awake in the car stared back, and the telltale scratches of Goris waking up served as the only noise besides the distant mooing of brahmin.

Granville stuck his head out of the window. “I'll come back for you, when this is all over, okay?” Davin pursed his lips.

“Just… wait for me? Please?” The kid didn't offer any hint on how he felt about the situation, and instead turned and walked into Modoc.

Granville sat back down, and rested his head on the steering wheel. “Fuck,” he said loudly. Marcus and Cassidy continued to sleep in the back, and Goris was adjusting his cloak lazily.

“Let's go to the Den and get drunk at Becky’s.” He put the Highwayman into drive, and stepped on the gas pedal.


End file.
